


an unauthorized infatuation

by VenatorNoctis



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Early Heavensward Timeline, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenatorNoctis/pseuds/VenatorNoctis
Summary: The Azure Dragoon is powerful and enigmatic and Alphinaud's thirst is real.When Alphinaud closes his eyes it's all too easy to imagine Estinien's hands on him, firm and confident and ever so much larger than his own. The hard body of a warrior pressed close behind him, the heat of breath against his nape—He barely managed to keep untimely arousal at bay while they were traveling and he had distractions at the ready. He has no chance now.





	an unauthorized infatuation

**Author's Note:**

> I fell into this game in July and stopped writing basically anything, whoops. I'm about halfway through Heavensward now and I love almost everyone? Also tanking, I've discovered I love tanking. 
> 
> Anyway it delights me every time Estinien says something complimentary about Alphinaud, and I imagine it must fluster him quite a bit too.

By the time they finish gathering information from Tailfeather and the surrounding area, it's growing dark. Alphinaud is prepared for an argument over whether they should move on anyway—some members of the party are impatient, to be diplomatic about it. But for once Lady Ysayle and Ser Estinien find themselves unable to find fault with each other's plan, and all of them retire to the spare rooms that Marcechamp provided to them. 

There were but two rooms to spare, and Alphinaud is sharing his with Ysayle: not quite the arrangement he might want, but one for which he is profoundly grateful. Ysayle asks no prying questions and sleeps soundly. She seems to think him still a child, which does little for his pride but has its advantages, especially at a time like this, when he can't settle and the others would be quick to come to all-too-apt conclusions about his restlessness in bed.

_Be not so quick to judge_ , he hears, still echoing in his mind long after the fact. He's certain he imagines more warmth in that voice than there was in truth, and yet his imagination will not be stifled. _I have seen this "frail" youth fell heretics with a flick of his wrist_. Not only a defense he didn't ask for but approval, esteem, from a man whose own prowess is legendary. A man whose legend is well earned, to judge from what Alphinaud has seen thus far—the powerful surety of movement, the precise and devastating thrusts of his blessed lance.

He is not allowed to develop an infatuation with the Azure Dragoon, Alphinaud tells himself, not for the first time. Not for the first time today. He rolls over in his bunk with a sigh. He hasn't even seen the man's face! Estinien seems to have an aversion to removing his helm, and wears it even when taking meals with them. He's scrupulously careful about turning away before removing it when he needs to sleep. Once, Alphinaud caught a glimpse of a fall of pale hair in a relatively unguarded moment as Estinien was arming himself, but that's done nothing to sate his curiosity.

Rather the opposite, if he's honest with himself. (He's trying to learn to be more honest with himself. It seems a crucial skill to prevent his previous mistakes from recurring.) The forbidding armor that both defends Estinien and marks his rank makes him a mystery: somewhere inside the Azure Dragoon's polished adamantite shell is a man with fair skin and a wicked smirk, with deft enough hands to light a fire wearing gauntlets, with enough raw strength to make the acrobatic leaps of dragoon warfare look easy.

_He's not allowed to develop an infatuation with the Azure Dragoon_.

It isn't working. When Alphinaud closes his eyes it's all too easy to imagine Estinien's hands on him, firm and confident and ever so much larger than his own. The hard body of a warrior pressed close behind him, the heat of breath against his nape—

He barely managed to keep untimely arousal at bay while they were traveling and he had distractions at the ready. He has no chance now, stiffening so fast it hurts, so intensely it makes him curl inward as if he could protect his need. The sensations are so vivid in his imagination. Estinien's hands, his breath—his arousal, thick and hot as it rubs against Alphinaud's skin, dauntingly big but so _good_ as it presses inside.

Alphinaud lets out a low hiss of frustration, surrendering to his increasingly urgent need. He pushes down his leggings and smallclothes to free himself and at least seek the relief he's needed for days. His own touch isn't what he craves, but paired with his feverishly active imagination it will suffice. He holds his breath for a moment to listen: Ysayle's breathing is slow and even, deeply asleep. This is as near to privacy as he's like to have on this journey.

He wraps a hand around his length and the first stroke is already a blessing. Estinien's hand would be larger, rougher, with calluses no scholarly pursuit ever produced. The power in it would be evident as he pressed close, as he held Alphinaud's body against his. 

Nor would it be only Estinien's hand that brought Alphinaud pleasure. He lets his other hand slip down behind himself to touch where he wants to be filled. He has no oil at hand to indulge that desire, and he'd almost be tempted to go ahead without, save that he fears leaving himself with a telltale limp in the morning. Teasing will have to do, stroking the sensitive flesh of his opening and imagining the Azure Dragoon stretching him open and driving into him deep.

His breath hitches and he'd moan if he dared. He wants so much to have more than his own hands, for all that his own hands are accomplishing the task quite effectively. He picks up his pace, rocking into his own grip as he imagines that Estinien's thrusts provide the momentum. His breathing feels likely to give him away and he buries his face in the softness of the pillow to muffle it.

Heat floods through his limbs, licking wild and hot like unaspected aether, pooling at the base of his spine as he approaches release. His nerves are a tracery of arcanima and his desire lights up that whole incantation as he imagines being held, _taken_ , being driven to this brink by the force of Estinien's hunger for him. His need crests and breaks on that thought, all his limbs tensing as he swallows his cry of relief.

His heart hammers in his ears in the aftermath, and the cotton of the pillowcase is hot with his breath. His whole body feels boneless. There's no sound from the other side of the room, thank the Twelve.

It's tempting not to stop, to work himself up again and repeat the process as many times as his flesh can stand. He certainly has the appetite for it, and who knows how long they'll be on the road before he next has a chance this good?

But no—relieving unbearable tension is one thing, and deliberately indulging to excess is another. Once was enough to clear his head and _not_ enough to be the start of a bad habit. Alphinaud cleans up the mess as best he can in the dark and puts his clothes back in order. That was enough. He pulls the blankets up, wrapping them tightly around his shoulders. He should get some sleep. They set out for Sohm Al in the morning, and he'll need to be rested to keep up with his companions. He'll be prepared.

And he will _not_ develop an infatuation with the Azure Dragoon.


End file.
